The Fighter's Remains
by tarquin1
Summary: Shimmer Hammel, a Victor from District 4, has spent the last six years broken and ridden with guilt from her final act in the 69th Hunger Games. Now, with a chance to be instrumental in an upcoming rebellion, a broken Shimmer must face her fears and guilt as she struggles to save everything...but her greatest guilt will haunt her every step of the way. These are dangerous games.
1. Chapter 1

I stand in the beautiful meadow, covered with grass long enough to tickle your ankles and sunlight that streams through the trees. A faint wind blows, rustling the leaves, and as soon as it stops, I at once become aware of the silence. In a meadow like this, the birds should be singing and the bees should be humming lazily from flower to flower. I spin around, searching for some other life form. As I wheel around, I spot a boy emerging from the trees. He's tall, with tousled dark brown hair and strong forearms from pushing cattle around all his life.

"Adrian." I say, and stumble forward to him. He comes slowly to meet me. I stop just in front of him and survey him and his wary eyes.

"Adrian?" I ask tentatively.

"Shimmer." he says, and at once a flood of emotions pour through my soul as my name crosses him lips.

"I'm sorry." I say. No matter what else, I will always be sorry.

"It doesn't matter." he says.

"Everything matters." I whisper.

"None of it does."

"How can you say that?" my voice is still a whisper.

"Because it's true."

"Why are you doing this?" I ask him, unable to keep the pain out of my voice.

"Shimmer." He says, and as I look into his eyes I see hard emotion that I can't quite place.

"Yes?" I say.

"There's a storm coming." I look up at the cloudless and sunny sky.

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean," he says, his voice full of implication, "that it would be best if you stayed here with me."

"I can't." I say, wishing for all the world that I could.

"You can." He says, and at once I am aware of the knife in his hand. With it's sharp edge and distinctive ebony and gold handle, there is no way I don't recognize it.

"Adrian. Please." I say, backing away slowly.

"You aren't sorry yet Shimmer. But you will be. And besides, you owe me." he says, and at once I turn and sprint away. It doesn't make any difference though, as I hear the whoosh of air before the knife lodges in between my shoulder blades. I scream as I fall, and I am still screaming when I wake up.

_ I have had this idea for a while, and while Fred and Aurelia argue I decided to write this preview of the story. I have her whole backstory plotted which was originally going to be the first part of the story, but now I have decided to incorporate it into the story as flashbacks in order to show her fragility. This story takes place during the events of Catching Fire, and I hope you enjoy it. While you're waiting for the first chapter, if you haven't already read Gold Heart, a Harry Potter fanfic of mine, I suggest you head over to check it out ;)_

_ Much love, Tarquin. _


	2. 1 I Remember

**Anything you recognize (including setting, characters and basic plotline) is the property of Suzanne Collins. I own Shimmer Hammel.***

"**The last thing I remember **

**You were begging me not to go**

**You had that look of sadness on your face**

**That only I would know."**

**-Saying Goodbye, Every Avenue**

I remember the first time I saw the star crossed lovers from District 12. We were on the bullet train that would take us to the Capitol—a grand and luxurious place that looked like a dream but felt like a nightmare. The velvet couches sank a few inches as Finnick and I sat down, across from the tributes. As I looked at their faces, I felt a stab of annoyance at Annie Cresta that I immediately regretted. I shouldn't even be here. It should be any stuck with the nightmare job of mentoring tributes, not me. I had won the 69th Hunger Games, and Annie the 70th. By all accounts, she should be the one sitting here, not me. She should be the one to endure the Capitol, and all of the horrible people in it. When Annie won the 70th Hunger Games, for the few days before her victory interview, the Capitol had been putting together promos for me, Finnick and Annie, calling us the Golden Triple, the pride of District 4, and replaying clips from our respective Games that made me want to vomit.

Then she had appeared in her interview, and it was obvious to everyone that she would not be the Victor that they wanted her to be. She had always been beautiful, so when she appeared on the stage the crowd had gone wild, chanting her name and blowing her kisses. But then the interview had began, and it all went downhill from there.

"Poor, mad Annie Cresta," wrote the papers the morning we returned to District 4, "an eighteen year old girl who will never be able to enjoy her new celebrity status. Teams of Doctors officially pronounced her insane last night, and upon looking at footage of her in the Games and before, said that she has been insane nearly all her life"

Insane. All her life. Because it was easier to write off her whole life as broken rather than admit it was their Games that had caused it. But that's what they always did when a flawed Victor emerged from their hell pit. Annie might have been mad, but she was lucky. She had escaped the Capitol. Whereas I, who was by all accounts as destroyed as she was, returned to the Capitol every year to suffer.

Beside me, Finnick coughed as the replay of the reapings began. The tributes across from us, both fifteen, turned their attention to the large flat screen TV. They took in the reapings of Districts 1, 2 and 3, with wide eyes, and were silent through the replay of their own. Their attention dropped a bit as the numbers got bigger, to them, it was only the first two Districts that they needed to worry about. I wanted to roll my eyes at their stupidity, but a look from Finnick had silenced me. Although Finnick wasn't a mentor, he still made the journey to the Capitol every year, so that the citizens of Panem could oogle him and try their hand at retaining his interests. I knew he hated every minute of it, but I also knew his reason for putting up with it.

"And finally, a surprisingly exciting reaping from District 12. Take a look." said the announcers, and at once the reaping began to play. It was a spectacle, with Haymitch Abernath displaying his drinking talents and embarrassing Effie Trinket, the escort for District 12. But then the reaping took a more serious turn, as a little twelve year old girl was reaped, and her place taken at once by her sister. Even in an ill fitting dress, I could see that she had a lean frame and more strength than most from 12. I saw her interview in my mind's eye: she would use her strength (both mental and physical) to her advantage. She was not very pretty nor did she look very charismatic, but being District 12's first volunteer in decades would be enough to make up for that fact.

However, her true failings did not make themselves known until the boy was reaped. He was her opposite in every way, light haired and slightly stockier, with a shocked expression on his face in exchange for the girl's impassive one. Once on the stage, they were made to shake hands. And that was when I saw it. The slight hesitation from both before grasping the other's hand lightly, as if afraid of the other. She was looking at their hands, and he was looking at her, and just for a moment, an expression so deep that it could only mean one thing flitted across his face.

I stood up at once, unable to deal with what I had just seen. Finnick and the tributes, I couldn't remember their names at the moment, were staring at me with confusion. I couldn't be here. I had to get out. With out even a flimsy excuse, I walked out of the car and down the corridor to my room. I shut the door, and stood in the middle of the room, unable to think what to do next. All I could do was play the boy's, Peeta Mellark, expression over and over in my head, as it showed only for the briefest moment before being replaced with fear. Numbly, I made my way over to the bed, and sat, head in my hands, eyes closed. But you can't unsee anything, and the image kept flashing over and over. How could I know? I, of all people should. That look on their face when they glance at you and know that what they feel is pointless, futile, because whatever they do there can be no happy ending. And no matter how much you try, someone always ends up hurting. Dark grey eyes flash in my mind, along with a clever smile.

_"Who do you think you are? To tell me what to do?"_

_ "Who am I? Shimmer Hammel, Victor of the 69__th__ Hunger Games." I say jokingly and against my better judgement, because we both know that it isn't going to happen. Like I knew it would, his face turns serious, but not before a flicker of something else appears in his beautiful eyes. _

_ "That, I don't doubt." he says. _

"What the hell Shimmer?" asked Finnick as he flew into the room, the door banging against wall as he opened it forcefully. I felt his body heat in front of me, and from the creak of the floorboards, registered vaguely that he must be kneeling in front of me.

"Go away." I said, my voice hoarse.

"Shimmer. You can't take a trip into your little screwed up mind now. We'll be at the Capitol tomorrow. And you know there isn't any room for that."

"You're one to talk." I threw at him.

"I'm not the one running out of a reaping's replay to have a mental breakdown in my room." Why couldn't he just leave me alone?

"I hate you." I said, even though we both knew it wasn't true.

"Good, good. So you won't mind when I tell you that you're acting like a little girl and you need to pull yourself together?"

"You didn't see it." I said, unfazed by acceptance of my fake hatred.

"See what?" he said, pulling himself up onto the bed next to me.

"The way he looked at her."

"Who?"

"The boy. Peeta Mellark. Finnick, he's in love with her."

"The girl who volunteered?"

"Katniss Everdeen." There was silence as Finnick took in what I said to him, and made some connections of his own.

"How do you know?" Here, I raised my face to look at him. His sea green eyes met mine, and on some level I understood why the female population of the Capitol was so desperate to get their hands on him. However to me, he was just Finnick. Sure he was devastatingly gorgeous, but I had never been attracted to him. Looking at the dark emotion in his eyes at that moment, I saw the madness that I looked at in the mirror, and in Annie.

"You would too," I had whispered, "If anyone had ever looked at you with desperation like that."

"Shimmer, you're crazy."

"Not as crazy as him." Finnick had made a frustrated noise at this point. I remember because it filled me with anger.

"Why don't you believe me?" I said.

"Because, Shimmer. What happened to you was a one in a million shot. There's no way it would happen again." At this, I had walked over to the door and opened it. I didn't care that Finnick had my best interests at heart, or that I was falling apart each minute Peeta Mellark continued to love Katniss Everdeen. All that mattered was that he needed to be stopped.

"Out." I had told him, making a grand gesture at the door. Finnick stood, and I could see him trying to decide whether he should listen to me.

"Shimmer—" he began, but I had cut across him, angry to the point of hysterics.

"What do you know about it? Nothing! You've never—you've never—you have no idea what it's like! To—to feel that way about someone and know that there isn't anything you can do! That no matter what happens, whether you live or die, it won't matter, because you'll be broken. And if they feel the same way about you, which I have no idea if she does but never mind, if they do, it's a million times worse. And you, you with you're sick and twisted exploits at the Capitol, you with your hope and love for Annie, have no idea what it's like! You still have hope, but me? I have nothing." Here I collapsed onto the floor, sobbing. Never, in six years, had I had an outburst like that. I had thought that I had managed to move on, but suddenly, all of it was coming back up, and there wasn't anything I could do except drown in the waves of memories and guilt that crashed over me.

Finnick dropped down next to me, and pulled my hands away from my face. "You've got me." he had said. "And you've got Annie. And Mags. Us three, we're all here for you. I know that none of us have ever been through what you have, but Shimmer, we do understand. All of us. We never lost someone like that, but we've all been in there. We've all come out different. All of the horrors—Shimmer, we all know that there's no escaping. We all relive it everyday, and whether it's been ten years or a week, it doesn't matter, because you can't unsee and you can't undo. All you can do is fight on. Shimmer, please."

It is as if his words have become a temporary levy to the memories overwhelming me. I look up at him with new eyes, and I have to appreciate what it must be like to be Finnick Odair. To love a mad girl back home, and to be forced into how many one night stands with nameless, faceless women. All because of the Capitol. I don't think I've ever hated anyone more. Except maybe myself. Finnick smiles as I look at him before standing.

"Thank you Finnick." I had said. But I needed to say it. "I'm right though." A shadow crosses his face, but he didn't seem to want to repeat the yelling match.

"All right, Shimmer." he said tiredly. I know he doesn't really believe me, but my thoughts are already running wild with thoughts about what I need to do when I get to the Capitol. I pray that Haymitch will have sobered up, if only slightly.

"Now you really do need to get out." I said, pretending like everything was okay, the same way I had been doing for the past six years. "I need my beauty sleep."

"A lot of it too." he had teased back, standing up. He crossed the threshold before turning back to me. "Keep it together Shimmer." he had said, before disappearing down the corridor.

I threw myself back onto the bed, and closed my eyes with trepidation, because I knew that as soon as I slept, the levies would break, and I would be forced back under the ocean of memories.

_A/N: First off, thanks to everyone who put my story on some kind of alert system! For a 493 word preview, the response I got was very positive! Special shout out to Kurskin for being the first review of the story. So I changed my mind a little bit. Both this chapter and the next will take place during The Hunger Games, before speeding back up to catch up with Catching Fire. This was not how I originally planned it to go, but I felt that this was needed to start the story, so that you knew a little bit more about her, and her various relationships before we begin the rebellion. (eep, I can't wait!) Also, the chapters will be much longer than this one (starting with the next one) but this was the most logical breaking point for what I want the next chapter to be about. Anyway, please excuse the weird tense for this chapter, and probably a little bit of the next one too, and recommend and review! Much love, Tarquin1_


	3. Too Late

**Anything you recognize (including basic plot, characters, dialogue and setting) belongs to Suzanne Collins. Shimmer Hammel and Adrian Maltese are mine. **

"**I'd take another chance, take a fall take a shot for you**

**I need you like a heart needs a beat**

**yeah I loved you with a fire, and now it's turning blue**

**and you say sorry like an angel...**

**but I'm afraid it's too late to apologize."**

**-Apologize, Timbaland (ft. One Republic)**

_ The tray filled with food felt heavy in my arms as I looked around the cafeteria, weighing my options. There were no empty tables, as each tribute had claimed a table of their own. The exception was the tribute pack from District 1 and 2, who had pulled together a bunch of tables so that they could all sit and laugh together. Ben was sitting with them. As he had so graciously promised, he saved a seat for me, but I knew that I wouldn't sit there. Finnick had pulled me aside after Ben had departed the breakfast table and warned me not to. Like I would have anyways. They were sick, training themselves for the supposed honor of winning the Hunger Games. _

_ I had to sit somewhere though. My eyes alight upon the boy from District 10, who is sitting all alone, eating an interesting looking brown stew. I think his name is Adrian. I walk over to his table, and stand in front of the empty chair across from him._

_ "Do you mind if I sit?" I ask. He looks up from his food, surprised._

_ "Shouldn't you be sitting with your friends?" he asks, sneering. It is clear that his opinions about Districts 1 and 2 match my own. Only a little part of my brain recognizes that to know this he must have been paying attention to me. _

_ "Those aren't my friends." I say. His expression becomes even more surprised. I take his stunned silence for a yes, and sit down. He doesn't tell me to leave, so I assume that he's okay with me. He shrugs slightly before going back to his food. I study him as we eat. He's got slightly messy dark hair that falls forward into stunningly beautiful gray eyes. His strong arms are covered in scars. I wonder how he got them. My eyes fall back on the stew he's eating. It's thick and brown, with vegetables and a tough looking brown meat._

_ "What's that?" I ask, pointing at the strange meat. _

_ "What?" he looks down at his meal. "You mean the beef?"_

_ "What's beef?" I ask, confused. _

_ "You've never had beef before?" I shake my head._

_ "Then what do you eat in District 4?" _

_ "Seafood and vegetables."_

_ "Seafood?" Now it's his turn to look confused._

_ "You know, like fish and shrimp and clams. You've honestly never had it?"_

_ "I'm from District 10. Livestock. We eat cow, which is what beef is." Cow? I look at the meat with new suspicion. _

_ "It looks gross." I inform him, and take a bite of my shrimp scampi, an infinitely better version than the kind I was used to at home. _

_ "Yeah?" an amused smile appeared on Adrian's face, "well so does that." _

_ "It's actually very good." I tell him, assuming an air of loftiness. _

_ "And this isn't so bad either." _

_ "Then I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree." I say. _

_ "I guess." Adrian's smile grew more pronounced. "You don't know what you're missing though." _

_ "Whatever." I rolled my eyes and went back to my food. I never would have admitted it to Adrian, especially while he was wearing that amused superior smirk, but I was actually curious to know what the meat tasted like. But as I continued to eat, I was surprised that I was smiling too. _

"Shimmer! Get your sorry butt out of bed! We're going to be at the Capitol in twenty minutes!" The door banged open and Finnick strode in. I flew straight up in bed and looked around wildly, confused as to why I was not sitting at a table in the Training Center with Adrian, as I had every day for that one week.

"What?" I said stupidly, pushing my hair out of my eyes and looking at Finnick, who was at the closet door, a thoughtful expression on his face as he surveyed the clothes the Capitol had given me.

"Exactly. That means you have fifteen to look presentable, and you're going to need every minute." Finnick said, pulling out a slim turquoise dress that was acceptable for day time but was still head turning enough to just be acceptable in the Capitol.

"Put this on." he ordered, throwing it at me. "I'll see you in the breakfast car in ten minutes." He banged the door closed as he left. I sighed, and held out the dress, surveying it critically. It was almost exactly the color of my eyes, and while I would rather stay in my pajamas, it was a better choice than some of the other gaudy outfits in my closet. Ten minutes later I entered the breakfast car, looking my version of passable. I had the dress on, and and my hair up in a tight bun. But as soon as Sheila, the District 4 escort saw me, she let out a little shriek.

"Shimmer! What do you think this is, a funeral?" She obviously meant it as a joke to describe how un-Capitol I looked, but from the way Finnick's mouth tightened, I knew that he found it just as horrible as I did.

I sat at the table across from the tributes, poured myself a cup of thick hot chocolate that was just as shade lighter than beef stew, and immediately lost my appetite. I pushed the cup away, and instead tried to choke down a few pieces of fruit.

"Shimmer? Are you listening?" Sheila asked me. I looked up at her, standing by the couch with an unamused expression on her heavily made up face. Sheila couldn't have been more than then years older than I was but she was still tall and lithe with an angelic face. I was not the only one who had seen this similarity, for Sheila had gotten a pair of fragile looking wings to sprout out of the gap between her shoulder blades. Her skin was covered in golden swirls that was obviously supposed to add to the angel theme.

"Yes?" I asked, not about to pretend that I had heard a word she said.

"Come here and let me do your hair." She ordered. I tried to look vaguely tempted by the offer.

"Um, no, thanks Sheila, that's really okay." I said, as the train went under ground, into the tunnels that led up to the grandeur of the Capitol.

"Shimmer, you simply cannot appear in public looking so plain! Anyone would think that you were some sort of beggar, not a Victor!" I was spared answering by the train emerging from the tunnel and entering the much slower draw up to the station. I stood up, and looked out at the crowds of people, who were now looking excitedly at the train. I walked to the window and motioned to the tributes, whose names I remembered now to be Mediterra and Wilfred. They stood up together and joined me at the window.

"Wave at them." I told them, pointing at the mass of people, who were now gesturing excitedly at the window where we were standing.

"Why?" asked Wilfred. He had a prideful look of defiance on his face, that told me he thought that his killing skills were such that he did not need to pander to the citizens of the Capitol.

"Because one of them," I pointed at the people so violently that I jammed my finger against the glass "could be the difference between you winning or losing." With that I stalk away from the window. The tributes can do what they want. In the back of my mind I know that I'm doing a crappy job as a mentor, and that these kids deserve a chance to live as much as anyone else, but I pushed those thoughts aside. All I could think about was finding Haymitch Abernathy.

The tributes leave the train first, through a special exit that will take them straight up to the Remake Center and avoid the crowds, which are gathered on the station ten people deep. No such luck for celebrity victors such as Finnick and I though. Because even though Annie wasn't who they wanted her to be, they still had Finnick Odair and Shimmer Hammel to fawn over.

This is the one thing that Sheila is good for. She manages, with the help of a couple of Peacekeepers from the train, to create a path to the Training Center where we will be living for the next three weeks. Nevertheless, Sheila's people skills do not stop the ear piercing screams that bombard us as we exit the train. She cannot and will not stop the people from swarming forward, all but extinguishing the path, as women oogle Finnick and compliment me on my dress, or men shooting jealous looks and Finnick and winks at me. She cannot stop the children who push bits of paper into our hands for us to sign, or the young woman who comes right up to me as we are about to reach the door. She wastes no time, pulling up the sleeve of her gaudy dress to reveal a tattoo on her tan skin. It is a tattoo of two teenagers, a girl and a boy. The boy is lying flat on his back, his head in the girl's lap. His hand presses against her cheek, and she holds it there. I stare at it, and then up at her. Why? Why would she get that tattooed on her arm? How inhuman is she? Her big blue eyes are shining with half formed tears.

"I cried for two months." she informed me, her voice soft. "That was the most heartbreaking thing I had ever seen." I survey her without emotion. I do not know this woman, nor do I really care what she felt.

"Well, imagine living it." I said coldly, opening the door and making to leave, to escape. To be anywhere but here.

"I couldn't." she said, her voice louder and more steady. "You're the bravest person I know. For surviving." This is all so sick, I can't stand it. She looked at me like she expects me to be complimented, but it's all I can do not to vomit. I tried to smile at her, failed, and vanish through the door after Finnick.

My head was spinning, my breath coming fast and shallow, but I can't stop. Finnick grasped my hand and squeezed. I take a deep breathe as we continue on down the brightly lit but deserted hallway. Like so many times before, Sheila led us to the elevator. The elevator was one of the luxuries that I could never get over, no matter now many times I rode on. The polished surfaces, the exhilarating whoosh as Sheila punches the button labeled 4 and we take off. The only reason I would ever want to live in District 12 is because they get to ride the elevator the longest.

When we enter the District 4 floor, there is an Avox ready to help us with anything we might need. Sheila swung her purse at him, and he caught it deftly. He motioned for us to follow him, probably toward our rooms. I shake my head.

"I'm going down to the Victor Bar." I told them. The confusion that had clouded the Avox's dark eyes vanished, and he made a letter G with his fingers.

"Thank you." I said kindly, even though I already know this is where the bar is. Finnick still looked uncertain, but he let me get back in the elevator. I was not going because I wanted a drink (although I could have used one) I was going because it was the most likely place to find Haymitch Abernathy. And sure enough, when I arrived, the lone figure at the bar was Haymitch. There wasn't even an Avox bar tending, it was just Haymitch and the biggest bottle of vodka I had ever seen. The strangest part was that he hadn't even opened it, his glass was only half full, and the seal on the bottle was still intact.

"Haymitch." I said, sliding into the seat next to him.

"Shimmer." He acknowledged, and with a flick of his wrist he tipped back his glass and finished his drink in one swallow.

"I need to talk to you." I pressed, leaning closer. He groaned.

"Not now Shimmer. Talking to you always makes me need to drink, and I'm trying to stay sober."

"Why?" I asked, not even bothering to hide my surprise. I couldn't remember a sober Haymitch. The thought frightened me.

"Cut a deal with my tributes."

"Well that's funny, because I need to talk to you about them."

"I don't want to talk to you." I glanced around the bar, making sure that it was empty.

"Peeta Mellark is in love with Katniss Everdeen." Haymitch choked.

"No one could be in love with her." he said, though he sounded slightly doubtful.

"Well, he is." I said. For the first time, Haymitch turned to face me. His dark eyes bore straight through me and I shifted uncomfortably, trying to return his stare.

"And what do you suppose that I do about it." he asked, his voice level. I didn't have an answer. I was just hoping that he would believe me.

"That," I said, standing up and assuming a lofty air, "is for you to figure out."

Haymitch stood in the backstage area, waiting with the rest of the mentors for the interviews to be over. The mentors had the privilege of watching from a small but luxurious lounge just off from the waiting area where the tributes would be led after the broadcast. Not only was the lounge for the mentors, a few of the past victors also took up seats. The likes of pretty-boy Finnick Odair, wily Johanna Mason, and deadly duo of District One twins Cashmere and Gloss also sat around, looking fierce and unattainable.

Shimmer Hammel sat next to Finnick Odair. She was wearing a beautiful floor length sea green dress that would have looked just right onstage. But from the way she was picking at the delicate material, Haymitch guessed that she did not want to be wearing it. All the young victors were also dressed up the same way the tributes were. Looking at Shimmer Hammel would always inspire a multitude of emotions for Haymitch, as it did for most others. From personal experience, Haymitch knew that to actually have a conversation with her, he needed a large glass of something alcoholic. Not because she was annoying, but because you couldn't so much as look her in the eyes without feeling an all consuming sense of pity. No twenty two year old should have such sadness in their face, or such crushing guilt weighing down her shoulders.

The sighs of sympathy from the crowd brought Haymitch back to reality. They were enthralled by Peeta's tale of heartbreaking love. It had been a long time since they had someone in love to root for. He shot another guilty glance at Shimmer, though she did not see it. He was about to add fuel to the fire of her madness, and he knew that he would not regret it. This would help the girl, if she was smart enough. Even so, he was not looking forward to the tornado of anger that would be Shimmer when the boy finished. But he never knew what Shimmer was going to do, and he hoped that this would be one of the times he was wrong.

"Because she came here with me." Peeta said, and at once the uproar began. The mentors began looking around at each other, having quickly whispered conversations before they turned back to the screen to see the girl's reaction. Katniss Everdeen would never be beautiful on her own, but between the mesmerizing dress, the embarrassed flush on her cheeks and her downcast eyes, she seemed like the most desirable person in all of Panem.

Haymitch turned from the television to see Shimmer having a conversation with Finnick. Her expression was triumphant, though her eyes said she wished she was wrong. Her gaze flicked upward, onto Haymitch and her eyes narrowed. Haymitch balked, but was saved by ann Avox returning with a neatly written sign. **PLEASE FOLLOW ME, THE TRIBUTES ARE IN THE WAITING AREA. PLEASE ESCORT THEM BACK TO THEIR FLOORS. THE HOVERCRAFTS WILL BE DEPARTING FOR THE ARENA AT SUNRISE (6:33 AM) PLEASE MAKE SURE THEY ARE ON TIME. THANK YOU.**

The mentors stood and proceeded out to the waiting area, where Haymitch was saved from Shimmer only to have to deal with Katniss's stupidity. Peeta, who had made no attempt to stop her attacking him, was looking hurt. Haymitch had sympathy for him, though it was limited. It had been his idea to tell all of Panem about his crush, he had known that Katniss would probably react this way. However, that was no excuse for her behavior. Peeta had just done her a great favor. Sure the Career's would probably be gunning for her, but he knew she could handle it. Her weakness had been charisma, which, thanks to Peeta had just been remedied. He was yelling all of this at her, but he became aware that she was looking over his shoulder. He spun around and saw Shimmer.

She had been giving Katniss a forlorn sort of look, as if she knew her future. And she sort of did.

"Who is that?" asked Katniss. Haymitch knew she was referring to Shimmer, who had just sent Haymitch a scorchingly sad glance before heading into the elevator with her own party.

"That's Shimmer Hammel, District Four. She won five years ago."

"Another Career." Katniss said disgustedly. "Why was she looking at us."

"She wasn't a Career." Haymitch said quietly. Katniss stared at him, stunned.

"What do you mean, she wasn't a Career? She's District Four."

"I mean exactly what I said. She was never a Career. And I wouldn't be so quick to judge people, if I were you." Katniss shook off this advice.

"Why was she looking at us? At me?" Haymitch did not answer right away. He was not going to be the one to tell Shimmer's story. That would have to come from Shimmer if it was going to be told.

"I suppose because you remind her of someone."

_ I threw the knife straight at the target, and smiledl as it thwacked into the material. Bullseye. _

_ "Mind if I join you?" It was Adrian. I knew it would be before I turned around. His gray eyes were playful, and he already had a handful of knives clutched in his grasp. _

_ "I suppose I need to return the favor sometime." I said, keeping the rest to myself. And better now than in the arena. "I won't sit with you again. I'll find a table by myself." Adrian stepped up next to me, so he was facing one of the other targets. He set all the knives but one down on the ground next to him. He examined the knife carefully before answering. _

_ "You wouldn't go and sit with...them?" he asked, and at once I felt a rush of anger. Did he not believe me yesterday? Since I can't throw the knife at him, I had to content myself with whipping another one at the target. It hit the handle of the other knife, and sinks its blade in until it hits the beginning of the other blade. They droop slightly, unable to handle the weight. Adrian raised his eyebrows._

_ "Impressive." he said, and then grinned, like he knew that I was mad. "You can sit with me at lunch again. You know, if you want." _

_ "Only because I'm good at throwing knives?" I asked, suspicious. I didn't want to be signing on to more than lunch. A crease appeared between his eyebrows as he frowned._

_ "No." he said, and he looked down at the knife that was still in his hands. "Because I like you. You're sort of amusing, in a weird way. Besides," he said, as he gripped the knife in his right hand, "I might want to try seafood." and he threw the knife at the target. It missed the bullseye, landing a few inches to the right, but it isn't a bad throw at all. _

_ "Nice." I told him, going to retrieve my two knives. But as I stretch my hand out to get them, the scene changes and I am no longer in the training center. I stood in an open meadow. All was silent, except for my fast beating heart. I turned slowly around to face Adrian. Fear coursed inexplicably through my body. Adrian stood about ten feet away from me, a knife in his hand. _

_ "Adrian. Please." I whisper. He looked down at the knife, and then at me. _

_ "Adrian. I'm sorry." But no matter how many times I said them in dreams or reality, to myself, or to the sky above, they don't matter. I am too late. Too late to save anything._

_ "I'm not." My eyes squeezed shut as he cocked his arm back, and let go. My eyes opened as the knife entered my body so that I felt a burning pain for the slightest interval of time. But I couldn't help wishing that the pain would continue on. Maybe then this guilty blood would bleed out of me, and I would be forgiven._

A/N: Sorry for the wait! But here it is, chapter 2! Next chapter we pick up with where the story actually begins—just before the reading of the card in Catching Fire. This was just to give some more backstory, though you'll have to wait a little bit for the full story of her Games ;) anyway, thank you to all who reviewed/put my story on an alert system. I get so excited every time I get an email, it makes my whole day better! Please read, reccomend and review. Enjoy! -Tarquin


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